The Runaway
by ferretWARLORD
Summary: A fox mercenary is sent after a runaway otter by her desperate mother. A stoat prince has finally obtained the throne of his deceased father. These two will collide with one another for the same reason- to get the otter child by any means necessary.
1. Chapter 1

Part 1 ~ The Runaway Daughter

It was late at _The Broke Stoat_ tavern, and the moon was full, shining it's eerie light down upon the alley ways and cobble stone paths of the small village that the tavern was nestled in. The light cast odd shadows, shadows that would play tricks on a beast's eyes, tricks that could make one believe that they were moving.

That is what a lone ferret had come to believe in his time living there. And as he stumbled along the cobble stones in a daze, he shivered and pulled the long trench coat he adorned closer around his body. The air had gotten considerably colder since he had entered, and now the sun was down. He was starting to believe he had a drinking problem.

He stumbled forward as the toe of his cheap boot got caught on a deep crack between the stones, but thankfully managed to catch himself on the corner of a building. He groaned as he saw his reflection in a puddle, the moon light casting menacing shadows across his face.

"Waz happen' tah ya Crak?" The ferret belched. "You used to be such a looker!"

He began to sob as he dragged a paw along a long, jagged scar that ran down from an ear to one fang, the red color of the wound contrasting against his grey fur.

He then sniffled, wiped his eyes, and upon standing back up was suddenly shoved to the side by a cloaked figure.

"EY!" He hollored before falling back into the alley way behind him, and lying on his back he growled, muttering, "Damned freak. Only freaks wear cloaks... friggin.. jackass..."

Sitting up he spat, before raising one eyebrow as he spotted the strong looking tail that swung behind her. An... otter? What were their species doing here?

He watched the otter as it stopped at the enterance of the tavern, and as it turned to look up at the sign, he raised his other eyebrow as the warm glow illuminated the large black nose that stuck out past its hood. He never understood why otter needed such huge noses!

It pulled out a piece of folded parchment, and upon unfolding it, took another look at the sign. The ferret rolled his eyes and groaned.

"It's a tavern, river dog!" The otter seemed to flinch as he yelled, and the ferret smirked in satisfaction as the woodlanders gaze snapped to him, as if his words had just slapped the beast. He started to get cocky, and followed up by asking, "Ya stupid er-"

He stopped mid-insult as the light from the tavern shined underneath hood, allowing his eyes to lock with... hers. She had long eye lashes, and eyes darker than the night, so dark that the ferret thought he could stare into them forever.

His spiteful glare dropped as the otters look of desperation and fear penetrated his drunken stoopur, and coughing he couldn't help but feel his conscious prick at him.

"Y-you okay miss?" He couldn't believe what he was saying. He must have a serious drinking problem. As he stumbled back onto his feet, he tried to think of a good way to apologize. He was starting to feel guilty, yelling at such a beautiful otter. "I...uh... I'm sorry bout' yellin' at ya."

He sighed as he tried to think of what to say next, and looking back up found himself staring at an empty pathway that sat bathed in the taverns warm glow. His eyes darted around a bit, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the otters tail or cloak just as it disappeared down an alley way or around a corner. But he saw none.

"Hmph." He stood there for a moment, before looking down at the cheaply made leather boots, and sighed. He looked back up, and bringing up the collar of his coat higher around the back of his neck, sniffled again. "M'kay."

...

It was past midnight, and the bartenders eyes scanned around the remaining patrons. There wasn't too many left, and since the ferret Crak left stumbling out of the door, he was now out of regulars. No one to talk to, no one to pass the time with- he was stuck here for at least another hour and a half. At least until the last few beasts finished their drinks, or passed out.

The rat sighed and grabbed a tankard off the front counter, and giving it a shake groaned as he heard almost half a cup left. Dumping it out he grabbed a rag.

"Crak you idiot." As he scrubbed a ring of dried booze off of the main bar, he heard the jingle of a bell as the door was opened.

"Get out. We close in about..." He twirled his free hand in the air as he continued to scrub with the other. "Aaaah, bout' an hour!"

Despite his demand, he heard rapid footsteps as the beast entered. Groaning loudly he looked up to the doorway to see the thick oaken door as it swung itself shut, and mumbling a curse to himself he threw the rag into the sink.

"Fuckin' no respect." He watched as the beast, an otter by the look of the tail, strode in quick long strides to the farthest corner of his tavern. The only thing that was visible was the thick, strong looking tail- so he assumed it was an otter.

It was an odd sight. Seeing an otter this far west in what is commonly known as The Western Plains was unheard of, especially to the small vermin village. Most otters don't see a point in going this deep into the plains, his father had told him that most otters (or river dogs) usually stay near rivers or lakes. Hell, he had heard from a few sailors of even larger otters living on the coasts- some kind of sea otters.

He shrugged in disbelief, scoffing to himself. That is why he stays in land, in his tavern. No otters so far in land.

Then he frowned as he watched the hooded otter remove it's hood, staring at the tiny round ears and the seemingly endless whiskers. Too many whiskers, the rat thought. Why do all otters have too many whiskers?

Looking past the otter and at the patron she was here to see, he raised both his eyebrows as his eyes looked at the tall fox that was staring down upon her intently. His gaze was a stone cold calm, a kind of emotionless stare of neutrality as he listened to the otters story.

The rat turned away and back to cleaning off the tankards from the main bar. Not his business. Even if it was his business, he'd want nothing to do with it.

...

"You Darvin?" The tall fox before her nodded, and she threw the parchment down in front of him. "Good."

 **Look who's back. It's me. I'm back. :D**

 **College sucks. Work sucks. It's been years since I've written a story. And this ones been bouncin' around in my head during work for a while now. So why not ge back into the swing of writing with some good ole' fanfiction?**

 **Read and Review!**


	2. Chapter 2: Details

The otter had gone against her husband's wishes and had sought out the fox. The flyer was one of rough design, with a very crudely drawn head of a fox at the top. In large, bold lettering it read:

 _TO ANYONE IN NEED OF THE FOLLOWING:_

 _1.) Ridding of beasts_

 _2.) Finding of a certain beast_

 _3.) Finding of multiple beasts_

 _4.) If something is in need of stealing_

 _DARVIN BRUNSWIK IS THE FOX TO DO IT._

 _Is to be contacted/found at "The Broke Stoat Tavern" to discusses the details of job. Payment can be up front or recieved upon completion of job._

Her husband was never fond of any vermin, and when she had presented the flyer to him one afternoon, he had dismissed it immediately. She knew as soon as his powerful, piercing gaze had looked down at the roughly drawn fox head, he had made up his mind. He was very un-trusting of vermin, and with good reason. Her husband had a very dark past when it came to vermin, she could tell that the first day she had met him. The way he looked at the wandering vermin bands of traders and entertainers told her as clear as day. He had a look in his eye, a glint of spite and hate whenever he would pass a stoat or rat in the forest or at the market. She had asked him to come out with it on multiple occassions, but he always shoved her away.

Even when they had gotten married and had their daughter, he still refused to tell her of his dark secret, that horrible even in his past. She understood that he hated vermin and even telling her of what happened wouldn't change his outlook on life. And as she looked around at the tavern- At the grumpy fat rat that sat behind the bar, the completely drunk pack of stoats that sat packed in one booth on the other end of the room, and finally at the towering warrior that loomed over her- she could understand why. Most of these vermin seemed... not nice.

The only thing she had heard about vermin in stories and tales as a child were of their evil deeds. Most of them were that of vermin attacking the legendary abbey of Redwall, or of their species attempting to breach the mountain fortress of Salamandastron. Of course, those tales always ended with the vermin being vanquished by the woodlanders!

"You Darvin?" The fox nodded, and she tossed the parchment down in front of him. "Good."

This fox was tall, so tall that he could have stood eye to eye with her husband. And, as he reached down to unfold the parchment, he could have also held his own in a fist fight with her husband. A strong hand reached down to pick up the paper, and as she watched the fox lift it off the table and closer to his face, she heard a deep, rasping voice ask,

"Gotta name?"

"Wilma." She swallowed as her eyes drifted to her left, and she felt her nerves begin to tingle. She had just now noticed the huge sword that sat leaning up against the wall outside the booth, just in arms reach of the vermin that sat before her. It was a long blade, longer than she was tall, and was resting out in the open outside it's sheath. The cross gaurd of the blade was longer than her forearms, and she couldn't see any beast save for a badger weilding it.

She flinched as the fox's other hand tapped on the table. Her eyes snapped back to him, and the fox grinned. She stared back into the yellow eyes that shone like two lanterns in a sea grey, the bright eyes seeming to shimmer with a glow of excitement as the fox asked in a coy manner,

"Nice sword, don'tcha know?" The wide, sharp tooth filled grin quickly flashed back to a nuetral emotionless stare as he inquired about the job, the otter sighing quietly in relief as the eyes went back to the paper. "What kind o' job is it? Find n' retrieve, er find n' kill?"

The otter simply stared at the fox as if she had not read the flyer. It was hard for someone of her up bringing to even begin to imagine beasts of such nature. _"find and kill"_ Was enough for the kind otter to simply turn and leave, but now she feared that in doing so would just insult the vermin before her.

Her eyes slowly drifted back to where the massive blade lay resting up against the wall as she answered.

"Find and retrieve." The fox flipped the flyer over and dug a piece of charcoal out of a satchel when she said that, and the otter saw him write _"notes"_ at the top.

"Her name is Lylla, and she is a young river otter, my daughter, about nineteen years of age." As he quickly jotted down the information, he asked her a series of question concerning the beasts physical appearance.

"Any tattoos? Birthmarks? Physical deformites?"

"No! She's as beautiful as me." She heard the fox blow air out the corner of his mouth before continuing.

"Physique?" The otter hesitated when he said that, and the fox looked up from his paper to see that the maiden looked rather uncomfortable with the question. She eventually answered, albiet stuttering in the beginning.

"W-well she's..." She could feel herself start to blush. It was odd, having to describe a family members body to a stranger, and she especially didn't want this fox going after Lylla! So she went with the basics. "Oh she's about four foot six, just barely coming up to her fathers hips, in fact she's one of the shortest ones at the abbey!

"Abbey?" The fox interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh!" The otter suddenly realized that she was a considerable distance from the abbey. "Redwall Abbey, run by a whole bunch of mice?"

The fox apparently had no clue what she was talking about, because after a few seconds of blankly staring he went back to his paper and jotted down what she said.

"Uh-huh. Anything else note worthy about er'?"

"No, mister." The fox nodded, and upon looking over the information he had written he stuffed it into his satchel along with the charcoal stick. He then sighed as he saw the barkeep glaring in his direction, and upon noticing the drunk pack of weasels stumbling out the door he realized it was closing time.

...

"Crak!" There was a loud pounding on the ricketty shed's door, and the ferret groaned as he shoved a blank canvas off of his chest, rolling off of the mattress. Crak was an artist, and as most vermin artists were, he was very unsuccessful. It wasn't that he was a bad artist or anything, no, most of his pals at the bar thought he was pretty good.

"Crak, wake up!" Whether they were drunk or not while he showed them, he didn't know. But as he stumbled to the door he began to regret staying up painting. He opened the door and found his friend since childhood, Darvin, standing in front of his home. He squinted as the light shined past his shoulder, before noticing the flyer he had drawn up for the fox.

"What." He jabbed his finger at the fox doodle on top of the flyer. "The hell."

He leaned in closer to the ferret, who began to meekily smile despite the menacing growl that had begun to resonate from within the fox.

"IS THIS!" Upon saying that the fox slapped the paper to the ferret's chest, who stumbled back slightly as the fox shoved him. Stooping down underneath the door way Darvin entered the shack as the ferret looked the paper up and down.

"What's wrong with it?" The fox threw his arms up in the air as he heard that, and found himself pacing the small room, yelling,

"What's wrong with it? What's wrong with it?!" The fox let out a loud snarl, before snatching the paper from the ferret. "The damned fox up there's what's wrong with it!"

The ferrets confused face only made the fox more frusturated.

"I'm a bounty hunter Crak! I kill people! I ain't hostin' a party!" The ferret took the paper back, inspecting it more as he rubbed his chin, and nodding said,

"Yeah. Yeah now I see your point." The fox slumped down into a chair that sat next to the door, the wooden chair creaking loudly as he sunk down into it. Moaning he rubbed his eyes, having drunken a little too much last night. As the ferret held the paper farther from his face, squinting at the flyer with a quizzical look, Darvin shook his head in dismay.

"Why are we friends?"

"Is it my charming good looks?" The ferret asked without looking up from the paper. The fox smirked.

"Has to be. Nothin' else good about ya!" The two of them laughed before the ferret grabbed an eraser, the fox nodding with satisfaction as he started to erase the doodle. "Everything else was fine."

"Aw, thanks. Hand writing takes SO much effort!" Now Crak shook his head in dismay. "Ain't no one around this back water hell knows what art is!"

The fox looked around the shack at the many paper sketches and painted canvases that littered the walls of the small shack. He understood why the ferret had moved down to the coast line a mile away from the town, because he was right. Everyone around here was either a fisherman or a farmer, and most of them were tightly nitted in family traditions.

The ferret picked up a canvas and placed it back on the easle, the blank white canvas an odd sight in the swirling colors and portriats that covered the walls. Darvin felt bad for him, because he did have good artistic tastes, it's just that he was in the wrong environment to express it.

"So, Crak?" The ferret looked towards him after blowing the eraser shaving off of the flyer. "I'm gonna be headin' out again."

"You workin'?" The fox silently nodded, and the ferret sighed. "Darvin, yer the only thing even close to family I've got ere'."

The ferret walked up to the fox, who sitting down was eye level with him. Darven stared at the stained shirt Crak always wore when he painted, each stain a different bright color. He smirked as the ferret looked into his eyes, which were glistening with concern.

"Don't go dyin' on me. Please." The fox stood up, and walking to the door stooped down to leave, but the ferret grabbed his wrist. "Ya hear me you big dumbass?"

"Yeah I heard you ferret fuck." The fox yanked his wrist free, and standing up straight as he entered the sun light, he grinned. Looking back at the ferret he nodded, before stating boldly, "I didn't die when I fought that wolverine. I didn't die when I stole that boat from those shrews. And I ain't certainly gonna a die from trackin' some otter pup!"

The ferret sighed, staring down at his bare feet as he tried to think of something to say, before he shrugged and yelled,

"Well ge' outta here then! I have work to do!" The door slammed shut and the fox stood there on the coast line, and couldn't help but smile. Crak was the only beast he ever trusted on this miserable world, and the same went for Crak. The two of them were inseperable, and Darvin promised he would visit him whenever he would go on a job, and when he would get back.

The fox never went back on a promise. That was the one conviction he had. And when he had left that tavern last night with the otter wife, he had promised her he would return her child to her safe and sound. And that is what he intends to do.

 **Here is chapter 2! The next chapter I will be focusing on the daughter Lylla, so stay tuned! Read and Review! Chapter may not be frequent day to day updates sadly, due to work being a real pain in the ass!**


	3. Chapter 3: The Slave

**Life update: My car died. Here's the next chapter.**

There was a chill in the air as she looked up at the stars, the small hole in the top of the large tent restricting her vision to only a small patch of the night sky. She shivered, bringing her legs up closer to her chest, the chain shackled to her ankle dragging in the dirt as she did. She was trying to get to bed much earlier than usual, even opting to miss dinner in favor of sleep, which was what she would normally try not to do. With being a slave, food was a necessity to your survival.

But, as it turns out, she had to get up early tomorrow for a meeting with the leader. The leader of the band of vermin was a rather polite and sophisticated like fox named Falstar, who was almost always up at the crack of dawn, and she wanted to make sure to meet him as he exited his tent. This meeting would change her life as a slave forever, and she sure as hell didn't want to muck it up.

Lylla had grown up in an abbey her entire life. They were some of the best years of her life- the food during the mid-october feast, running through the cool dew covered grass during spring, and most of all swimming around in the pond behind the dormatories.

Now, as she lay here with one ankle shackling her to the confines of a tent, she was starting to regret not stealing a kitchen knife before she had left. She was also starting to miss the comforts of Redwall as she lay in the dirt, but she quickly shoved those thoughts out of her mind. She had lived her entire life in that abbey, and she wanted out after nineteen years of it.

Of course, being capture by a slaver after three days outside the abbey and then being purchased by mercenaries the same day weren't exactly part of the plan.

"Ey otter!" She rolled her eyes as she heard the gruff voice of the fat rat that had been assigned with watching her, who was named Dran. He was a jackass, but thankfully he wasn't too abusive towards her, which usually allowed her to stay relatively unharmed while under his watch. She remained silent and still, hoping that the rat would get the message that she was asleep and leave her alone for the night. Unfortunately she heard a low growl and then a loud holler from the rat. "EY! WAKE UP!"

Pounding a fist into the cold damp dirt she stood up, hollering back,

"What?!" The rat simply sneered at the irate otter, crossing his arms over his chest and staring her down with his own glare. There was a moment of tension between the two, before he jabbed a thumb past his shoulder, stating, "Dinner's ready."

The otter didn't reply, she only gave the rat an annoyed glare before she kicked her right foot out, jingling the chain attached to her ankle. The rat rolled his eyes with a tired snort before ducking into the tent, joining the otter as she crossed _her_ arms and snorted. Kneeling down so that he was eye level with her, he quickly fished the key out a leather satchel he had strapped to his belt.

"Alright." The otter watched as the rat turned the key, an audible click being heard before it fell to the dirt. She rubbed the sore ankle, a sigh of relief coming from her lips, before the rat snapped his fingers to gain her attention. "You know how it is, you run, and we-"

"Yeah, yeah! You'll shoot!" The otter dismissed the rats threat with a wave of her paw as he started to pull a hand crossbow out of its holster, walking out of the tent with an irate, but cocky air about her. The rats hand left the grip of the crossbow, and smirking he exited the tent. As he saw her make her way down the dirt path that sat between the two rows of tents, he called to her coyly,

"A month with us and yer already a cocky little shit eh?" Following the otter as she left the circle of tents that surrounded a large bonfire, the rat spat to the side, before stopping behind the otter as she stood outside the crowd of feasting vermin. Placing his hand on her shoulder he smirked. "I thought all you southerner's were supposed to be a bunch o' cry babies n' cowards! S'pecially you youngin's!"

Not to his surprise the otter flipped him off, before turning back around and disappearing into the crowd, the natural energy and quickness of her species causing the rat to lose sight of her in an instant. He put his hands on his hips and frowned, before muttering to himself,

"Damned woodlanders."

...

Pushing and shoving her way past the mass of taller and stronger vermin, Lylla hoping she'd be able to get to the feast table either before or after a certain flirtatious ferret, whom she was not in the mood to deal with. Shoving through a group of six seemingly identical black ermine, their fur shining with a sleek shimmer in the light of the fire, she was able to see an open path to the feast table.

The feast table was a set of two large, heavy oak tables, with the two ends of them simply put side by side to make one large table. The tables, which _were_ beautifully crafted and polished wooden decorations that originally sat in a squirrel lords throne room, were covered in slashes and dents from years of use. According to what Lylla had been told they had been "given" to them by the squirrel king as payment for their services. On the table sat five roast wood pigeons, all cooked to a beautiful golden brown color, that shimmered with the grease and were speckled with seasonings. Just looking at it made the otter's mouth water as she got closer, but her eyes were quickly torn from the beautiful sight when two foxes suddenly stepped out in front of her.

"What's this Gregar?" One fox, slightly taller and stronger looking than the second, asked as he looked down at her. The other fox, who had a chip in his left ear, scoffed before saying,

"I dunno Jeffa, but it looks like a slave who thinks she's fit tah eat with us!" The two of them crossed their arms before grinning simultaneously at her.

She grinned back, before frowning as she snapped,

"Will you two idiots frick off so I can eat?" The two of them shook their heads before Jeffa suddenly right hooked her in the gut. Gasping as the hit knocked the air from her lungs, she fell to her knees, tears welling up in her eyes before a spasm of coughs erupted from her. Laughing Grega grabbed her by the head with one hand. Lifting her up so she was eye level with him, he sneered,

"Jus' makin' sure you know yer place s' all!" The fox pulled her close to his chest before tossing her to the side, and Lylla found herself face planting into the stomach of Dran before falling down at his bare feet. Dran, who had been trying to find her since she had sped off to the feast table, looked down at her and sighed in disappointment.

"Lylla yer' a dumbass." Lylla had started to get her coughing to calm down when the large strong hand of Dran extended down to help her. The large rat had to bend down as he lifted her back onto her feet, and as he brushed off the dust from the stained green cloak she wore he shook his head. "Ya can't go snappin' at everyone in the camp, I thought you would ave' learned this by now!"

The otter simply coughed in reply, sucking in a large gulp of air as she recovered, and Dran patted her on the back, before he heard a scoff from one of the two foxes.

"Dran when er' you gonna learn?" The rat narrowed his eyes at Gregar as he sneered, "That cocky little snipe is nothing but a waste of our food!"

The rat watched the two foxes as they bumped fists before turning their backs to them, and looking down he saw Lylla make a move to retaliate. He quickly gripped her shoulder, holding her back as she snarled,

"Fuckin' ASSHOLES!" She swung her fists in the air in vain as the two foxes looked back at her and laughed, before they disappeared back into the crowd of vermin. Dran knelt down as her eyes began to get glassy with tears, and still gripping her shoulder said,

"How many times do I have to tell you, you're a slave, and that's all yer ever be to them!"

"Yeah and I thought I made it clear when we first met." The otter wiped a tear that had escaped her eyes, before she shoved the rats hand away from her. "I wasn't going to let anyone walk all over me, even _if_ I am a slave!"

He watched the otter as she trudged on to the feast table, and sighing again he couldn't help but smile at her. It took only a month but Dran could see she had adapted quickly to this life, and that meant she had a strong will. If she wasn't otter he'd gladly call her his daughter, but, what was he to do? She was an otter from Redwall and he was nothing but a lowly rat mercenary!

Shrugging the rat walked off towards a bench that sat near the bonfire, the thought of Lylla being his daughter shoved back in favor of more pressing matters. Like what kind of grogg he wanted to drink tonight. Yeah, that was way more pressing, he thought in to himself in a vain.

...

Lylla gripped the dull and dented grey plate, the fork she shoved into the back pocket of her baggy shorts, licking her lips in anticipation as she hurried up to the feast table. The glorious and shimmering roasted pigeon sitting before her seemed to beckon to her nose with its tentalizing aroma, so much so she could have sworn her feet were levitating. This was all it took these days to lift her spirits.

But then, _he_ showed up.

He was a slender ferret, who stood only a foot taller than her, with brown fur covering an area around his eyes and his hands. She wasn't sure about his feet, because he always wore large boots with his long green pants tucked into them. The ferret gave her a warm smile as he leaned back against the table, tugging at his vest in a suave manner as he cooed,

"Why hello my beautiful otter!" Her smile of giddy anticipation completely shattered, the otter stared at him with bored expression across her face as he continued to flirt in a sickeningly soft voice. "How is my sleek and shining goddess doing on such a star filled night?"

She watched his eyebrows bounce up and down. Wow she felt like gagging. The ferret, named Filtch, was a flirtatious vermin whom she had met a week after she had been purchased by the band of mercenaries. It was when she was still new, so her life was a lot worse from what it was currently.

Back then she was constantly tossed around from owner to owner, with the leader of the band having purchased her as a servant for them all, and most of them weren't too fond of otters. The majority of the ones she'd work for would more often than not give her a long and drawn out explanation of why her species were so hated- most of them she was sure were exaggerated, because they tended to get dark pretty quickly. Like they were trying to scare her into submission or something. Back then her head was still filled with the fairy tail, happy-go-lucky stories from redwall, where her along with the other dibbuns were spared most of the gritty details.

And to tell you the truth, she didn't mind being a slave all the much to these rough vermin. Most of the stories redwall told were of vermin always being either murderous blood thirsty scum bags or of horrible and cruel slavers- they never really told too much about the ones who sat in between those lines. These were mercenaries, who worked for money and worked an honest living on it. Lylla could respect that...

It just so happened that at least half of the band were usually on the receiving end of an otter's javelin in their earlier years.

So her usual tasks around the camp were either washing clothes, picking up after a feast, delivering drinks and food to tents, and the occassional boot shining for the leader. In those days she would regularly get abused by certain beasts who wished to take out their anger and frustration on her species, but now she actually thanked them. It was what made her stronger. Sure she cried and wished to be saved by some noble warrior from her imagination, but she knew deep down that wouldn't happen.

Filtch had approached her right after she had been tripped with a freshly polished pair of boots for Falstar, and had fallen face first into a mud puddle. He had helped her back onto her feet, asking,

"Oh my poor otter, are you well?" She had been, at first, taken back by the kind voice. It wasn't that she was abused by everyone, no, there were a few gentle vermin like Dran she had worked for. But it was the way he worded his sentences that caught her ear. It almost reminded her of a hare or a mouse from Redwall.

She had nodded, said it was nothing, and was on her way back to where she had gotten the boot polish. Little did she know that that was the start of the month long pilgrimage of the ferrets attempts to woo her.

Now Lylla was wishing for one of the vermin to drive a dagger through the top of her skull as the ferret sat next to her. Like, any moment just stop behind her as their passing by and just DO IT. Because now the ferret presented her with a shining quartz rock, his eyes sleepily staring at her as he said,

"I found this quartz, just for you..." She quickly got up from her seat and hurriedly walked to the other side of the bonfire, finding a seat in between two huge stoats, having to squeeze in between the two to sit down. She muttered a quick apology as the two of them looked down at her, watching as she wiggled her hips from side to side to squeeze in, the two of them puzzled as to why she'd sit in such a spot.

"S-sorry. It's Filtch." They both made a "oh" face as they understood her predicament. It wasn't a secret that Filtch had a thing for otters. The two scootched over to the sides to give her more space, making it so they only sat half way on the bench, and smiling great-fully she thanked them. "Thanks guys."

The two nodded before continuing with their meal, and as Lylla looked down at her food she saw the white belly of Filtch behind her plate. She groaned as the ferret extended the quartz towards her, and she reluctantly took it.

"Fine. I'll take your stupid rock." He gave her a broad smile before he said,

"Anything for you, my love." Now Lylla was certain she was going to puke all over her wood pigeon.

 **And here we have chapter 3, and to be honest I was going to make Lylla's slave life a living hell as it's usually described in the original books- with the vermin being abusive assholes and having no redeemable qualities- but for this I thought I'd switch it up.**

 **Anyways, please read and review!**


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